


all alone in a castle of magic

by FrazzledDragon



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur is sweet and pure and wholesome, Empath Merlin, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Oneshot, Socially Awkward Arthur Pendragon, and those without magic are criminals, but arthur and merlin are essentially the same as they are in the show, imagine merlin but kind of opposite, not super shippy, where camelot is a thriving city of magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-29 15:37:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20798996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrazzledDragon/pseuds/FrazzledDragon
Summary: Arthur Pendragon, heir to the throne of Camelot, genius son of Uther Pendragon, is the first in a long, long line of Pendragons to be born without magic.He is a criminal, a liar, useless.Merlin Emrys, sorcerer, dragonlord, empath, commoner, is Arthur's first servant.He is inquisitive, innocent, and most importantly, an empath who can definitely find out Arthur's secret.A specific kind of shenanigan ensues.





	all alone in a castle of magic

Arthur Pendragon was a disappointment above all else.

He did not have magic. The first member of the Pendragon line who didn’t. His father did, as did his father and his father and his father. His mother did, as did her mother and her mother and her mother. He was alone, a disappointment, a mistake.

In Camelot, magic was everything. Every knight, every scribe, every commoner had magic. To be without magic in the kingdom of Camelot was treasonous. Those without magic were not welcome, were not wanted. 

Were certainly not fit to rule.

Uther had done his best to hide Arthur’s greatest failure, whether it was behind illness or youth or general lies. The kingdom did not know the heir to the throne was a failure, did not know of their king’s lies. Uther insisted it was better this way. Once Arthur seized the throne, his secret would probably slip free, but by that point, it’d be too late to remove him.

But that didn’t help Arthur’s ever-present feeling of being a mistake. He didn’t belong in Camelot. Camelot didn’t want him. He swore he could feel the walls pressing in around him, wanting him out, out, out. He trained hard in every other area of his life, trying to make himself better, trying to make himself worthy of Camelot, of the throne, but he could never quite get there.

He was the best swordsman in the kingdom, but the knights often asked why he always insisted on a real shield instead of one made of magic.

He was the best diplomat in the kingdom, but those he met with never understood why he insisted on seeing them in person, instead of magically sending the same messages any number of ways.

He had learned under Gaius’ wing until he could list every plant found in Camelot forward and backward, and knew the most about every magical creature. But most people could heal themselves with magic, and didn’t quite understand the value of his knowledge of herbology.

He was the most well-read person in Camelot, and knew basically everything there is to know about the history of his home and the surrounding kingdoms, but more than once, he had been asked why he turns the pages manually, instead of with magic.

He had learned to play every instrument, could sing any kind of song, could write any story, could paint any scene. He mastered every art he could, every practice, every area of expertise. He was, undoubtedly, the smartest person in every room and probably the most dangerous person in the kingdom, with magic or without. 

But he didn’t have magic. He was worthless.

He knew his father tried to hide this from him, tried to shield his uselessness from his knowledge. Arthur wished he had the courage to tell him not to bother. He already knew it. How could he ignore it? 

People without magic were unnatural, and criminals. They were always executed in a violent fashion. They could not keep jobs or find friends. Camelot was simply too good for those without magic, too advanced and too prosperous to waste space and air on someone who couldn’t magically contribute. Cenred’s kingdom was for those without magic. While a Pendragon sat on the throne to Camelot, magic would be the rule. Not the exception.

Arthur Pendragon was the exception.

It burned and burrowed into him, that he was only alive because his father, especially as he was forced to sit and watch as other people without magic were magically drawn and quartered, slowly dismembered, or hanged in the town square for all to see. He didn’t deserve to live, he knew, especially as his stomach turned and the people cheered and whooped as the criminal finally breathed their last.

What made matters worse was the fact that he had to be practically isolated for the vast majority of his life. He wasn’t allowed servants, or friends, or to learn or train under anyone Uther didn’t explicitly label as trustworthy. He was awkward in conversation and obviously socially stunted. He never learned slang or new words. He did his best to hide his lack of magic, but he knew that he’d give himself away at some point.

The only time he was allowed around strangers and the various others who generally posed a threat to his life was during huge celebrations where visitors from all over would be expected to attend, and expect to see the crown prince. 

They were simultaneously his least and most favorite times of the year. 

On one hand, he really was a truly _ terrible _ conversationalist, often coming across as haughty and arrogant and rude. He had _ no _ idea what other people expected from him and subsequently frequently failed to deliver. He never knew when a girl wanted him to dance or wanted him to ask his knight to dance with her. He was an excellent dancer, but was often far better than his partners were and ended up humiliating them unintentionally. He knew more than everyone else on just about every subject, and often corrected people as his instructors had done with him. He learned, though, that most people didn’t care enough about any one subject to know as much or be as politically correct as he did and was on it.

But on the other hand, sometimes he would stumble across someone a little like him. A princess who had refused to learn to sew and do makeup and instead spent all her time reading. A prince who wasn’t as well-read, but was easily on his intellectual level and could banter with him. A duke who had studied the same style of sword-fighting and had interesting stories to tell. A motherly queen who would refill his goblet and ask him if he was eating enough or if he had a secret someone in his life, because no one as handsome and smart as him could possibly be alone for long.

Arthur loved the attention, but secretly suspected that he would be alone forever. Who could ever love someone as disappointing as him? Perhaps he’d marry for power, would marry the book-worm princess or the intelligent prince. Maybe that’d make his heart hurt less than never finding love.

It was at one of these such feasts that everything went wrong.

Many people resented Uther for his ban on magicless people. Arthur understood it better than Uther did, as one of the oppressed, but still didn’t quite understand the efforts to end it. It was at this random feast, regular in every way, that one of the oppressed people tried to assassinate Arthur, a long knife their weapon and their screeched outrage their cry.

And Arthur, unable to effectively defend himself, had to resign himself to the fact he might very well die here at this feast, right in front of everyone. 

Then a dark mop of hair, attached to a pale, gangly body dove in front of him and shielded him, while simultaneously taking out the would-be assassin. Arthur was floored, embarrassed, flabbergasted. The shield was no small feat of magic, he knew; the swirling of light and sound and energy into a complex braid of sheer power was impressive to both witness and wield, and this commoner, by the looks of his wardrobe, had managed to wield the shield _ and _ take out the attacker. Most people would have simply used a shield of air or whatever was physically around them and attacked once they could safely put their shield down.

This commoner was far from ordinary, and that wasn’t even considering the fact he just risked his life to protect the crown prince of Camelot.

Arthur turned in fear to his father, who’s cold, calculating eyes were taking in this commoner and weighing his worth like it could be quantified. “What’s your name, young man?” His father’s smooth voice broke the stunned silence encasing the room.

The commoner turned, his cheekbones and blue eyes glinting in the candlelight. He did a low bow, giving the royal family a goofy grin. “My name is Merlin, your majesty.”

Uther’s eyes flashed as he took in the information, waving his hand and muttering a spell. A fancy goblet appeared in Merlin’s hand, full to the brim with what Arthur recognized as expensive wine. “I do believe a thanks are in order, Merlin. It would appear, in my son’s moment of panic, you’ve saved his life. Such an act of kindness and bravery cannot go unrewarded.”

The room was eerily silent, everyone waiting with bated breath to see what Merlin’s reward might be, as this was unprecedented and wanted to see what Uther had in mind. Arthur was different though, in that he had no idea what his father was thinking and wanted to find out even less. In fact, if he was assassinated right now, he wouldn’t even complain.

“Your reward shall be serving as Arthur’s manservant. Clearly, if every time someone tries to attack him, he panics so much he can’t even throw up a shield, he’ll need someone talented and quick-thinking to protect him.”

Arthur didn’t miss the disappointment, real and unleashed in his father’s voice. His face went red, even if his heart was leaping a little. For the first time in his eighteen winters, he’d have a servant! Maybe… Maybe a friend? He knew it wouldn’t last; Uther would find a reason to fire him within a couple days, to protect Arthur’s secret, but the companionship… for even a couple days? 

He was so lonely. _ And pathetic _, his mind whispered angrily. 

Arthur spoke in only one word answers for the rest of the night. As soon as he could, he left the feast without ever saying a word to Merlin.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t grateful, no, that wasn’t it at all. He _ was _ grateful. It wasn’t often his life was in danger (Uther refused to let him go on quests, as his lack of magic made him about as easy to kill as a legless rabbit) and it was even less often that a commoner saved him. The boy, for that was what Merlin was, a boy hardly, if any, older than Arthur himself, deserved his thanks.

But Arthur, for every thought that was rejoicing at the thought of a companion, no matter how temporary, there was at least ten thoughts of pure, unadulterated panic. What if Merlin discovered his secret? What if Merlin already suspected? What if he was already spreading rumors? What did the people who witnessed the attack think? His father had made him out to be helpless and useless, which he supposed was true, but did he have to say it in front of all their allies? How would all their allies thinking he was pathetic help Camelot?

Not only that, but how would Uther get Merlin to leave? Would he execute him for a crime he didn’t commit? Would he banish him? Would he fire him, or pull him aside and explain that Arthur didn’t actually need a manservant, and the whole thing was a show and Merlin would be financially compensated for the deception? Or would he expect Arthur to handle it? What would Arthur say? He wasn’t a good liar and was horrifically awkward at conversation, no matter the tone. What if Merlin got upset? What was Arthur supposed to do then? The only upset person he had ever had to deal with was his father, and his father was usually justified. 

He had only just gotten to his quarters when there was a knock on his door. Cautiously, suspecting either his father or another assassin (though either could feasibly end in his death), Arthur opened the door, his sword loosely in his grip.

But darkening his door was none other than Merlin. “Hello,” he smiled pleasantly, his eyes wandering past Arthur into the room. “Since I’m apparently your servant now, I thought I might as well start tonight. I’ve been trying to catch you all evening, but you’re a very hard person to catch.”

Arthur just opened the door silently, his heart racing. He wasn’t expecting to have to deal with this until the next morning at least. He didn’t have anything prepared yet. He didn’t know what to say. He was so bad at this.

Merlin walked into the room, looking around at the room. He didn’t seem bothered at all by Arthur’s silence, but was rather content to simply exist.

“Thanks for tonight,” Arthur grinds out finally, the silence suffocating. “Sorry you felt you had to do that.” That wasn’t what he meant, and he flushed as he realized how it sounded. “I mean, I- I mean, _ it _ was admirable for you… to… you know… do that… for a stranger.”

Merlin smiles warmly at him. “You’re welcome.”

“Yeah,” Arthur sighed, already disheartened. If Merlin was pitying him, his hopes of companionship were down the drain already. “Sorry.” He wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for this time, but Merlin had probably earned it.

“So what exactly is my job description? I just moved to Camelot… yesterday, actually, so I was just glad to get a job. I have no idea what I’ll actually be doing.”

Arthur blinked. “I… I don’t know. My father thought the best way to teach a good work ethic and honor was to ensure I was never spoiled, so I’ve never had a servant.” The lie slipped effortlessly off his tongue, years of repetition to anyone who asked working to his favor. “Your appointment as my servant was just as surprising to you as it was to me.”

Merlin laughed in disbelief, his eyes so startlingly blue and bright, his grin brilliant. He was the most fascinating person Arthur had ever met, full stop. “Must be a twisted sort of reward then, huh? He made it sound like it was a punishment, but if you’ve never had a servant…” He shrugged, starting to tidy the room.

Arthur had never felt so uncomfortable. He started picking up too, which made Merlin laugh _ really _ hard. “You weren’t kidding. I pick up the messes now, and you supervise.”

Arthur stopped, watching Merlin pick up his various messes without complaint. Arthur was relatively tidy on his own, but he had a tendency to make small piles of things he didn’t want to deal with all over the place. Merlin, though, was pleasantly sorting through the piles and dealing with what he could. “This feels wrong.”

“You’re the crown prince! It’s your job to be a prat, and mine to tolerate you regardless.”

Arthur froze. His heart was racing, his mind reeling. He really, truly, didn’t understand, and by the gods, he was trying. “Sorry.”

Merlin laughed again. “I really thought you were joking about the whole “never had a servant” thing. Incredible. This is my job now, sire. I’m here to clean, conjure your bathwater and keep it warm, and generally serve you. I’m not a slave, I do get compensated for this, so you don’t have to feel bad about having me do things. I think I’m supposed to polish your armor and weaponry, too. Maybe look after your horses? My apologies if I’m incorrect, sire. I’m extrapolating off past serving experiences.”

Arthur shook his head, trying to clear it. This was going to be even harder than he originally anticipated, and he originally thought it was going to be impossible. “Call me Arthur. If you… _ have _ to clean and do menial labor, you can at the very least call me by my name.”

Merlin grinned again, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Okay, Arthur. I’m pretty sure you’re going to be the strangest royal I’ll ever serve.”

Arthur picked up a book, hoping to look more natural, and Merlin continued tidying, scooping out the fireplace, and generally bustling about the room. The sun had long dipped below the horizon, but Arthur wouldn’t be ready to sleep yet, even if he wasn’t wholly anxious about what duties Merlin feels accompany bedtime.

“Why did you fail to call a shield tonight?” Merlin asked eventually, as he surveyed the room for any remaining messes. “You had time, and you didn’t seem _ that _panicked.”

Arthur forced out a chuckle, hoping it didn’t sound as terrible as it felt. “I’m really good at hiding my fear. Not so good at controlling it.”

Merlin frowned now. He held up his hand, allowing his magic to become visible in his veins. It glowed brighter than fire and was near blinding. “My magic… It’s stronger than most. Druids I met on the way here say it’s the strongest to ever walk the earth, but I doubt that. Regardless, it can… sense? I guess sense is the right word… It can sense when someone else is upset. If I focus, I can feel whatever you’re feeling. Negative emotions just come through easier. And you? You weren’t panicking. You were stressed, but not terrified. Certainly not scared enough to find yourself incapable of conjuring a shield or a weapon. If anything, as a warrior, you would have been in the prime headspace for conjuring defensive or offensive equipment.”

Arthur’s heart pounded, his mind racing to come up with an excuse. Merlin was an _ empath _ ? How the hell was he supposed to lie his way through that? Uther armed him with a variety of lies for a variety of situations, but this was not one of them. Empaths were supposed to be _ legends _, dammit. Had Merlin actually touched him yet? If he had, what all had he gleaned from the glimpse in Arthur’s thoughts and emotions? Was there any way to defend against empaths?

Merlin’s frown deepened, his eyes curious and intent. “_ Now _you’re panicking.”

“Is it always right?” Arthur said finally, awkwardly late. His calm was a mask that he knew Merlin could see through, but he wore it nonetheless. “Your panic radar.”

“Usually,” Merlin said, taking a step closer to Arthur. “Do you get panic attacks?”

“No,” Arthur snapped, his lungs gasping for air, but he forced himself to take slow breaths, another element of his fake mask, trying to cover his real lies. “Leave me. I have no further need of your services tonight. I expect you tomorrow morning, an hour after sunrise.”

Merlin bowed his head, though he looked reluctant to leave. “Good night, Arthur,” was all he said as he walked out.

Arthur sagged into his pillows, biting his lip. He ruined _ everything _. Of course, his first servant was an empath. That was just his luck. Now, Merlin probably knew his secret and was probably sharing it with every servant he came across, and soon his secret will make its way to the knights and then it’s only mere moments before his father realizes just how big of a failure his son is.

It was a long time before he went to sleep.

He woke up the next morning sore and grouchy. Of course, Merlin was _ early _ because he saw through Arthur’s ruse. He had told Merlin to come an hour later than he normally woke up in hopes he’d have time to get ready and grab breakfast by himself. Then Merlin could simply deal with his dirty laundry and be done for the morning. But Merlin ruined everything by being an hour early, unapologetically sunshiney and happy, faking total unawareness at his failure to comply with Arthur’s orders. Arthur wondered if he could fire Merlin on that alone. He figured he could, but not without drawing attention to himself.

“Glad to see you’re better!” Merlin said cheerily as he effortlessly drew the bathwater and heated it. Arthur was uncomfortable, arguably worse than he was last night, his cheeks hot and his back aching. Apparently, he’d slept wrong all night and his back was going to punish him for it.

“Better?” Arthur grunted, mentally daring Merlin to bring up last night, begging him to give him an excuse to sack him. His father hadn’t come in ranting yet, so he assumed his secret was still relatively… well, secret.

Unfortunately, Merlin was an empath, not a telepath, and failed to heed Arthur’s unheard warning. “I wasn’t sure if I should have left last night, seeing as you appeared to be in the middle of a panic attack, but you seemed pretty sure you don’t have panic attacks, so I decided to wait to see if you have another before I start seriously defying your orders.” The last sentence was accompanied by a grin that Arthur could only assume was supposed to tease him.

“I don’t have panic attacks,” he grumbled, a sigh slipping free as he stepped into the bath Merlin had drawn. It was _ so _ hot and it felt _ fantastic _. He could never in a million years hope to draw a bath this hot himself. Even his back seemed to forgive him as the other foot joined the first. He didn’t submerge himself just yet, as Merlin was still in the room and Arthur definitely wasn’t comfortable with being naked in the same room yet. He just met him yesterday, after all. It wasn’t decent.

But Merlin hovered in the doorway, clearly unsure. Arthur made a shooing motion with his hands, but Merlin still hesitated. Arthur exhaled loudly, trying to make him move, but Merlin was resolute. “Am I supposed to help you wash as well?”

Arthur thought he might explode. “_ No. _ Leave me.”

Merlin frowned. “You get uncomfortable very easily.”

“And you get annoying very quickly. Your point?” Arthur snapped, his temper controlling his tongue. There was a spike of panic in his heart, out of fear that Merlin would get angry. Maybe he’d just leave. Would Arthur try to stop him? 

His heart and his head were a tangled mess, so both jumped in relief as Merlin laughed. “Your breakfast will be ready when you’re done, Arthur.”

“Thank you, Merlin,” he said as the door finally closed. He slipped the towel off and sank into the delightfully hot water.

He took his bath, relishing in the heat for as long as the water kept it, before slipping out and drying off. He cursed himself thoroughly when he realized that he had forgotten to bring clothes with him into the bathing room. Which meant he’d have to walk out in his towel.

Having a servant was a pain in the ass.

Tentatively, he walked out into his room. Merlin was fussing over the breakfast spread, reorganizing dishes and setting up a plate for Arthur. Arthur couldn’t imagine a world where he’d fuss over the placement of plates of fruits. It’d never naturally occur to him that it mattered.

“Under who else did you serve?” Arthur asked, and Merlin turned as though he was waiting for Arthur to speak.

“My mother, for one,” he smiled easily. He crossed the room in front of Arthur and began digging in his wardrobe. “She taught me a lot about the importance of order and tidiness. I love her dearly. I served my neighbor for a summer as well. I grew up south of Camelot’s border, where people without magic live freely. He was without magic and generally foul-tempered. I accidentally fell the tree that was planted over his dead wife’s body, and he demanded a price for that sin.” Merlin shrugged, finally pulling a couple garments free. “He wasn’t a pleasant master, but I learned a lot.”

“I can dress myself,” Arthur said, backing up a step as Merlin approached him.

“No one says you can’t. It’s my job to do it for you, Arthur,” Merlin said gently, but held out the garments for him. “But if you want to make this easy for me, I can’t stop you,” he grinned. But as Arthur grabbed the tunic, Merlin kept his grip on it, his grin fading. “The fact I’m an empath makes you nervous.”

It was not a question. Arthur didn’t see the point in lying. “I’ve never met anyone like you. And people make me nervous, empaths or otherwise.”

Merlin looked at him curiously, releasing the tunic. “Is that why you panic every time I get too close? You’re worried I’ll touch you? Glean every secret you’ve ever kept, every lie you’ve ever told, every memory you’ve ever made?”

“I… I read a lot,” Arthur offered, feeling guilty. No one he had ever met was so good at reading him, but he supposed Merlin had an unfair advantage. “Empaths are supposed to be myths. And the ones in the tales are… concerning, at best.” Most of the lore described empaths as conniving, seducers, interested only in fooling those with power and getting what they wanted. Myths suggested that avoiding and distrusting in empaths was the best course of action, and to never, under any circumstances, let them touch you, as one could never guess what they might learn. The fact that Merlin was an empath and the most powerful sorcerer in the world who just so happened to conveniently be present during an assassination attempt and took the opportunity to save Arthur’s life was a coincidence that would have made anyone nervous.

A deep sigh and another soft look. “Those tales are written by people who benefited from the oppression and destruction of the empaths. Specifically, those who were trying to deceive royalty for power. Empaths are neither the myths nor crooks they are made out to be.”

Arthur met his eye now. He had guessed as much, but it still felt good to hear. “Good.”

Merlin relaxed too. “I don’t _ try _ to read people. I was born doing it. I just kind of receive information and I can’t help but _ know _ it. Most of the time, I try to ignore it or suppress it, but it’s like trying to stop feeling things on your skin. Whether or not you like it, you can feel your clothes. I can’t stop feeling peoples’ emotions. Crowds are… _ really _hard for me to manage.”

Arthur wished he could be as open and honest as Merlin. “I’m sorry I was being weird. I should know better than to judge. And to be completely honest, just having someone wanting to bathe me and help me dress is really bizarre for me. I didn’t actually think you were going to deceive me or try anything. That was just another something my anxiety lumped in for fun.”

“Thanks,” Merlin smiled. “You have anxiety?”

Arthur shrugged, suddenly shy. “Probably?”

“And yet, you’re a knight who’s well-read, talented in basically _ everything _, and definitely one of the nicest royals I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. Incredible.” The way Merlin said it, Arthur believed he really did think it.

“And you’re the strangest servant I’ve ever had,” Arthur grinned, and trying hard to not panic, offered Merlin his hand.

Merlin’s eyebrows went up, but his eyes brightened. “You want to shake my hand?” The question felt teasing, but Arthur didn’t know enough to be sure.

“A gesture of trust. An olive branch, of sorts,” he said awkwardly, and Merlin grinned dazzlingly.

And took his hand. Arthur just focused on being calm. He’d never been much of a physical contact kind of person, mostly because there was never really anyone in his life willing to touch him or let him touch them. His father was strictly a king first, a warrior second, and a father third. His mother died in his birth, and his sister was to busy being better than him to even notice.

Arthur liked the feeling of Merlin’s skin on his, the warmth and the strength and the softness. He would never say that aloud, and he didn’t even get _ close _ to letting it become any sort of feeling, because Merlin’s an empath who might actually sense it and _ that _ would be an unmitigated disaster.

“I think I’m going to like working for you, Arthur Pendragon,” he grinned. “You’re a good person.”

“You might not say that when I finally figure out what it is you’re supposed to be doing during the day,” Arthur joked breathlessly, sure his heart was going to give out any minute. “Some servants in this castle never get to sleep. Maybe I’ll find out what their masters have them doing and you’ll have to join them. Sounds rather unpleasant to me.”

Merlin’s eyes glinted with challenge, and he finally released Arthur’s hand, much to Arthur’s disappointment and relief. “I’m a tough cookie. I don’t know if there’s a chore available that could break me, much less if you’d ask me to do it.”

If nothing else, Arthur had _ always _ been competitive. He grinned, but this time it had a confident and crooked twist to it. “We’ll see about that.”

Later that morning, his father requested to see him.

“What are you going to do about that servant?” Were the first and only words out of his mouth. No “good morning”, or “how did you sleep”. 

Arthur tried not to hold it against him. Instead, he held his head high like his father told him, rolled his shoulders back and looked King Uther Pendragon dead in the eyes. Though his heart was hammering, he showed no sign of panic or indecision on his face. He was his father’s son. He could be cold and calculating and all the things Uther was. “I’m going to keep him.” He hated talking like Merlin was some sort of exotic pet, but it was the only language Uther understood. “I’m capable of keeping my secret. I can hold my own. A prince should have servants. It’s _ always _ been a weak spot in my mask.”

Uther regarded him with cold concern. “Are you fond of that peasant already?”

Arthur didn’t show that Uther read him like an open book. He just glared. “Fond? I’ve known him less than a day. How could I be _ fond _ ? Besides, as you astutely pointed out, he’s a peasant. A Pendragon doesn’t grow _ fond _ of peasants. My fondness is reserved for one of my class.”

Surprise flickered in his eyes. Though it made Arthur want to vomit, he could recognize the approval on his father’s face. Not for the first time, Arthur wondered why he strove so hard to gain his father’s approval when it always felt like this.

“You’re sure you can hide it from him?”

Arthur clenched his jaw to hide the victorious smile. “I’m sure I can persuade him not to say a word if I can’t.” He let his hand fall to the hilt of his sword. Uther had only ever hit him once, but he made sure never to be alone and unarmed with him again.

“Good,” Uther nodded, waving a hand of dismissal. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

And things went on, just as they’re supposed to. Arthur got more comfortable with Merlin, and Merlin figured out what more of his duties were.

Arthur quickly learned that Merlin was more than able to keep up with him intellectually, and eventually the banter between them began to feel more natural. He also learned that Merlin was _ infinitely _ patient, willing to help Arthur learn how to properly socialize, both the words used and the more physical side of things. Though Merlin knew little about the political side of things, he’s a more than competent social butterfly and Arthur was an eager student.

Merlin learned that his being an empath actually had _ very _ little to do with why Arthur was so hesitant to touch him. Arthur was hesitant to touch _ anyone _. At first, Merlin wondered if he simply didn’t like being touched, but he quickly realized that, much like with his conversational skills, he simply didn’t know how. He was so careful to not offend or harm anyone, that he ended up getting close to no one. To put it plainly, he was terribly touch-starved and far too anxious to tell anyone.

So Merlin started to help him. Touch was hard for him too, as every touch could be horribly overwhelming, so they learned together. Merlin did little touches here and there, which Arthur slowly grew accustomed to. The whisper of his knuckles against the back of his neck when he fixed Arthur’s shirt collar. The touch on his arm when he quietly needed Arthur’s attention. The meaningful “coincidental” brushes of their hands anytime Arthur handed something to him.

As a result, Merlin learned a little more about controlling his reaction to the avalanche of information Arthur’s touch sends his way. Slowly, Arthur’s feelings become less overwhelming, less of a shock. He spends so much time with Arthur anyway, the constant stream of emotions is more like a constant whisper in his ear, which turns to talking when they touch, where it used to be shouting. Merlin almost wished Arthur could feel it too, because it felt lovely to know someone so intimately.

Merlin realizes his efforts are working when Arthur puts a hand on his arm, telling some sort of joke. It doesn’t click immediately, but when it does, Merlin just grins, not listening to a word coming out of Arthur’s mouth. Arthur is observant, so it only takes him a moment to realize something is off.

“What is it?”

“You just touched me.” Merlin can feel the waves of panic crashing against his shores, but as Arthur goes to draw his hand away, Merlin puts his hand down on top, holding it in place. “It’s a good thing, Arthur!... I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry.” He releases Arthur’s hand, looking down at his toes. 

Their bond, their banter, all the naturalness of their friendship goes away like someone blew out a candle, Arthur stiffly retracting his hand. “Do… Do you mind?” He asks softly, awkwardly.

“Mind what?” Merlin could cry. He effortlessly, tactlessly, totally ruined everything.

“If… If I touch you,” Arthur says, each word getting quieter than the last.

“Not at all!” Merlin exclaims, hope fluttering back into his heart. “Not even a little bit. I would tell you if I did.”

Arthur takes a deep breath, one Merlin has learned to recognize as him gathering his courage and his calm. “Okay. Do you want to hear my joke, now? Or are you going to ignore me again in favor of a flower or something else equally unnecessary to point out?” It’s so awkward and maybe a touch too sharp, but it’s back on the right track, and Merlin grins, looking around.

“Ooh, look at that bonnet!”

Arthur groans and rolls his eyes.

Merlin also learns that Arthur has a secret. Just one. He’s not entirely sure how he knows this, and he tries to comfort himself with the fact that most people have a vast number of secrets that they carry, himself included, but this one feels... _ strange _. He’s sure he discovered it through their touches, because the longer they touch, the more emotions and feelings and occasionally thoughts will slip through. Especially as his magic grows accustomed to Arthur, more information slips through easier and Merlin notices it less and less. After all, it’s just Arthur, who’s begun to occupy a constant space in Merlin’s mind. He reaches out to Arthur’s emotions all the time, gauging what kind of mood he’s in and what he needs to hear. 

The problem is that with most things, Arthur’s fairly honest and upfront. There’s very little Merlin could ask of him that wouldn’t be answered in some form. Even the more personal things, like his relationship with his father or his sister, or if he’s ever fallen in love, or what happened to his mother, assuming Merlin doesn’t ask at the worst possible time in the most insensitive way, Arthur will answer. Except this one thing.

Merlin doesn’t even know _ how _ he knows Arthur won’t answer. He has absolutely no idea what the secret is even about. He has no context nor any real proof of these things he considers fact. Arthur has done a surprisingly good job keeping that secret locked up tight enough even an empath can’t get in, but he does nothing to hide its presence. Merlin can feel that secret every time they touch, so he _ knows _ Arthur’s thinking about it. All the time, every day. 

He wants to ask, but he knows it’s none of his business. Any regular person would never know it even existed, because Arthur never slips up and mentions it. Merlin cannot imagine what sort of secret it is that Arthur, a fundamentally honest and upfront person who would do quite possibly anything to avoid a harmful social interaction, would hide it so totally and completely from the world.

“I’ve never seen you use your magic,” Merlin asks one evening as he prepares the room for Arthur to sleep. “You do more tasks manually than anyone else I’ve ever met.”

What he is expecting is some quip about his father, forbidding him to use his magic as a means of making him a stronger leader. What Merlin isn’t expecting is the cold, harsh rush of panic that consumes Arthur. He looks up at the blond, and Arthur is visibly pale.

“Arthur, are you okay?”

It’s then that he chokes out the quip about his father, his breathing ragged.

“Arthur. You can’t lie to me.” Well, that’s not true. Merlin has met some incredible liars before who have definitely deceived him, but for Arthur, it’d be extremely difficult. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he growls defensively, before stalking to the bathing room. 

Merlin isn’t sure he understands what’s going on at all.

It takes him another two weeks to figure it out.

It’s a bright morning, and Arthur is in the middle of having his jacket slipped on, when Merlin’s knuckles brush skin and suddenly everything he was missing pops into place. The blood drains from his face as he scans every interaction and every word Arthur had ever said to him. He grabs Arthur’s bare wrist, anchoring him to the spot and opening the loud channel to his feelings.

“You don’t think you have magic.”

Every atom in Arthur freezes. Merlin can _ feel _it.

“I have magic,” Arthur grates out, but Merlin can feel the way it rubs his conscience raw and how panicked he is, snippets of conversations and threats slipping out to Merlin more and more every second they’re touching. Merlin can feel the sob crawl up Arthur’s throat as he desperately tries to pull away, _ knowing _ what Merlin’s listening to and unable to calm himself.

“That’s just it,” Merlin tries to calm, beginning to feel ill, because the more Arthur realizes why Merlin won’t let go of his arm, the more betrayed and violated he feels, and it’s _ nauseating _ . “You _ do _ have magic, but you… you think you don’t!”

Arthur tugs harder, his desperation reaching a dangerous level. “Let go!”

Merlin’s heart breaks, but he lets go. “Arthur, listen to me, you-”

“You’re fired.”

“What?” Merlin can’t process his words, too overwhelmed by his feelings and the things he didn’t want to, but accidentally shared.

“You’re fired. Sacked. Done.” Arthur’s voice grows deadly calm. “Leave.”

“Arthur-”

“Leave!” Arthur yells now, his breathing heavy. “Go!”

Merlin stutters, more than a little nauseous now. But instead of speaking, knowing Arthur is justified, he slowly turns and begins to walk out, looking back only once, only to feel a wave of betrayal and fear crash into him.

Arthur had never been betrayed like that. Merlin knows just from the hurt he’s feeling.

Merlin thinks he might be sick. Why can’t he ever just _ stop _?

Merlin wanders until he reaches Gaius’ quarters. Gaius and his mother were friends, and though the original plan was to stay with Gaius and train as his apprentice, his assignment to serve Arthur completely derailed that plan, and Merlin had ended up having hardly ever spoken to the man.

But he knocks on the door, miserable in every sense of the word.

Gaius answers, clearly surprised. “Merlin?”

“Can I come in?”

Gaius opens the door wider and steps aside to let him in. “What’s wrong, my boy?”

Merlin swallows. “I’m an empath.” Not that it matters at the moment - he’s drowning too deeply in his own thoughts and emotions to be aware of anyone else’s. “And I messed up.”

Gaius frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Arthur fired me.” The words cause the lump in his throat to become almost unavoidable. Arthur was his _ friend _ . The best master he’d ever had because of it. He was kind, considerate, funny, patient, smart… But he was his _ friend _. And Merlin had completely violated him out of what? Greed? A complete misunderstanding of personal boundaries?

“Arthur _ fired _you?” Gaius’ voice suggests that he knows just how angry Arthur would have to be to fire someone too, which only makes Merlin feel worse. “What happened?”

Merlin tells Gaius how he discovered the secret, and what happened. “I… I just couldn’t leave it alone. I couldn’t imagine what kind of secret someone who seemed so good would keep so carefully locked away. I couldn’t… It sounds creepy and manipulative, but… but I’m not used to people being able to keep things like that from me. But he was my _ friend _, I should… I should have…” That carefully contained lump in his throat reveals itself to be a sob, which chokes him.

“Breathe, Merlin. Let it out. You simply went too far. It wasn’t out of malicious intent and you certainly didn’t mean to violate him, and I’m sure Arthur knows that. Arthur’s never had friends before. He doesn’t know how to respond but to isolate himself. Give him time, then talk it through with him. I can’t promise he’ll forgive you, but he’ll likely do his best to. Arthur’s a good man. You’ll figure it out.”

Merlin cries until he can’t anymore, Gaius rubbing his back and boiling water for tea. “You said Arthur has magic?”

Merlin sniffles and nods. “He thinks he doesn’t. That’s his big secret. He thinks he doesn’t have magic, which makes him a liar and a criminal, but that’s not the case. He’s got magic. My empathy doesn’t interact like that with anyone who doesn’t. People without magic are… fuzzy. Even if I touch them, I can’t… they don’t make sense like people with magic do. He has magic, it’s just not traditional magic.”

Gaius frowns, thoughtful. “Interesting.”

“How many people know Arthur’s secret?”

“Now?” Gaius considers the question. “Maybe ten, including you? Probably less.”

Merlin shivers. That’s not many people at all. He’d thought it was an exaggeration that Arthur had never had friends, but the realization only makes him more nauseous. If he hadn’t been so impatient, so nosy, Arthur might have told him on his own. But instead -

“I’m not a telepath or an empath, but I can hear your self-pity over the kettle. Calm down. Breathe. You can’t change it now, no matter what kind of thoughts you think. Give Arthur time. Despite your intentions, you violated his trust. It’ll take him a while to calm down and think about what you said. He’ll either talk to you, or he’ll cut you out. There’s nothing more you can do about it today. Do you need a place to stay?”

Nodding miserably, Merlin tries to wipe the tears away. “Do you still want an apprentice? I know someone who just lost their job.”

Three weeks later, Arthur is miserable. For a very wide variety of reasons.

On the less meaningful side, he hadn’t realized how nice it was to have a servant with magic around all the time. There are so many things that Merlin just _ did _ that Arthur now has to consider if it’s worth the time doing them manually. Usually, they aren’t. Like heating up his bath water or fixing his collar or rearranging his food for him so all his favorite dishes were closest and the ones he preferred less were farther away.

On the more meaningful side, he misses Merlin. A lot. Like a limb. 

The touches and the jokes and the glances and the little things he didn’t have to do, but did anyway and the way that Merlin never asked how he was feeling and always did his best to improve Arthur’s mood. He misses having someone to talk to, about anything and everything, having someone to banter with. He misses having someone to explain confusing social interactions and someone to trust with everything. And Arthur did trust Merlin with almost everything.

He _ was _ going to tell Merlin about his lack of magic. He really was. He was actually going to do it that night, but then… then Merlin just…

He could _ feel _ Merlin in his head then, could feel him feel his panic and his desperation to get away, but Merlin’s slim hand was like iron and he couldn’t pull free. Even when he asked Merlin to let go, he wouldn’t, and he wouldn’t stop prying. It still made him shaky to think about. It _ hurt, _ deep in his chest. He had never been _ violated _ like that and sometimes he woke up in a panic thinking he could feel Merlin trotting around inside his skull.

Merlin had _ always _ been careful of Arthur’s boundaries, always careful that Arthur was comfortable. Then he turns around and pulls a stunt like that? Arthur still can’t quite believe it happened. 

But then he thinks about what Merlin said, and his heart hammers. “_ You think you don’t have magic?” _ What does that even mean? His father had determined when he was no older than two that Arthur Pendragon was the first Pendragon born without magic. Several professionals had since tested Arthur and come to the same conclusion.

He’s trying to focus on the treaty he’s reviewing, something Merlin had taken to helping him with, when there’s a knock on his door.

He answers it tentatively, almost shutting it again once he sees who’s standing there.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin blurts, his eyes pleading. “Can… Can we talk? Please?”

Arthur frowns, his heart racing. “Fine, but you don’t touch me or I’ll throw you in the dungeons.” HIs voice is low and he means every word.

The hurt that flashes in Merlin’s eyes makes his heart sting a little, but not as badly as the thought of him grabbing him again. “Okay,” Merlin agrees.

“What do you want to say?” Arthur’s voice is flat. He is torn, because one hand, he misses Merlin terribly. But on the other hand, Merlin broke his trust in a way he wasn’t prepared to deal with. In a way he had no idea _ how _ to deal with. On top of that, he had lied. Merlin had told him he didn’t use his empathy like that, and he did, just to pull the one secret Arthur had out in the open.

“I’m sorry-”

“You already said that.” Arthur crosses his arms, knowing his anger and hurt and sadness are brushing against Merlin’s consciousness without restraint.

“I… shouldn’t have violated you like that. I wasn’t thinking. I… I never wanted to hurt you. I’m… I just…” Arthur realizes that Merlin’s trying to keep from crying and mostly failing. “You’re such a _ good _ person, Arthur… and when I felt that secret… poisoning you, hurting you, telling you every day that you’re a liar and that you can’t trust anyone… I wanted to know what it was. There’s no excuse, no way to make this better, because what I did was totally unacceptable and wrong, but… I never meant to hurt you. I couldn’t imagine what secret someone like you would have. I wanted to help. Then… Then I found out what it was… Not exactly on purpose, just… it was a burst of information… and… and… it was so _ wrong _, I couldn’t believe it. I lost all self-control, all sense of boundaries.”

Arthur’s gaze narrows. “What do you mean, _ wrong _?”

Hope lights Merlin’s eyes. “You have magic, Arthur.”

“No. I don’t.” The admittance sits like a rock in his stomach. This wasn’t how he planned to tell his first friend his secret. This wasn’t it at all.

Merlin’s face sets into one of determination. “I’m the most powerful sorcerer to walk the earth, Arthur Pendragon, as well as an empath and a dragonlord. I can tell when someone has magic and when someone doesn’t. And you have magic. You’re just more like me than like your father.”

Arthur sets his face in stone, refusing to show how desperately he hopes Merlin’s right. “What does that mean?”

“Your magic is unique. Uther’s is like everyone else’s. Cut from the same cloth. Not individualized, not particularly powerful, not as integrated into them. For them, magic is a tool. For us, it’s an organ. Does that make sense?”

“Are you trying to convince me that I, someone who has never done magic and has tried for years, am actually more powerful than my father?”

Merlin nods excitedly. “Exactly!”

Arthur can’t help the feeling of disappointment. Merlin probably pulled this desire from the crevices of his mind and was feeding it back to him in hopes of regaining his favor or his job. Probably both. It was exactly what he wanted to hear, exactly what he dreamed of hearing, which instead of making him happy, only made him angry.

“Look, if you want your job back, you can have it,” Arthur sighs and turns away from him, his tone dismissive. “I don’t care. I don’t have magic, and lying to me isn’t going to change that. I’m not stupid. Just leave me alone.”

Merlin cries out, “I don’t care about my _ job _!”

Arthur looks at him again, a little surprised at the desperation on his face.

“Arthur, I don’t give a shit about my job! I… I care about _ you _ . You’re my best friend… And I ruined that. I want to make things right, and trying to make the best of my screw-up is the only way I know how.” His voice breaks, and it takes him a second to regain his composure. “You _ do _ have magic. Your father and everyone else who told you that are liars. I can prove it.” Another pause. “Even… Even if you don’t want to be friends anymore… let me prove it, and I promise… I promise I’ll leave you alone.”

Arthur can feel just how much it hurts him to make that promise. “How? How can you prove it?”

Merlin pauses again, uncertain. “I… I need to touch you.”

“Out of the question,” Arthur all but snarls, his distrust rolling off him in tidal waves.

“If I could touch you, and you trusted me just enough, I could open a path to your magic and wake it up. I think, after years of believing it doesn’t exist, it’s gone into some form of hibernation, waiting until you use it to wake it up.”

“Bullshit,” he growls, backing away.

“Arthur, I’m not going to make you.” The words are soft coming out of Merlin’s mouth, and Arthur can _ see _ how miserable he’s feeling. “I… I already feel terrible enough about doing it once. I’m never going to touch you without your consent again.”

Arthur flinches a little, knowing, in his heart, Merlin is telling the truth. “Thanks,” he says gruffly, and Merlin looks relieved, but only for a moment.

“Please, Arthur. I’m not bullshitting you or lying or anything! I don’t… I don’t believe for one second I deserve your forgiveness. I… I just… I can’t fix this. And it’s killing me. If I can just… If I can make something good come out of this, I’ll… I’ll be able to sleep. Please. I promise, if you want to pull away, I won’t stop you this time. Please. I have no ulterior motive, no agenda. I… I just want… I have…. I have to try.”

Arthur watches him for a moment. He wants to cry too, because this is all too overwhelming and confusing for him, and every moment in the same room with Merlin makes his heart hurt. But, despite it all, and definitely more than he’d ever admit, he trusts Merlin implicitly.

“Okay,” he says, tentatively stepping closer. “You can try it.”

“Really?” Merlin’s eyes brighten, and it’s now that Arthur notices the dark bags underneath them. He really hadn’t slept well recently. Arthur can’t help but feel a little better about his decision. “You mean it?”

“Yeah. I do.” He doesn’t let himself say more, not trusting his tongue to say anything more. He could say what he was feeling, what he was thinking, and that simply wouldn’t do.

Merlin couldn’t seem to believe it, stepping a little closer. “Are you sure?”

Arthur holds out his hand. It trembles a little, but they both pretend they don’t notice it. “I’m sure. I trust you.”

Merlin reaches out, but stops and narrows his eyes at Arthur. “Absolutely sure?”

“_ Merlin _.”

“Okay, okay.” Softly, Merlin’s hand slips into Arthur’s, not holding it or anything, just resting against it. Arthur’s fingers gently interlock with Merlin’s and his shoulders roll back. He nods once. He’s ready.

  


They both close their eyes as Arthur willingly lets him in and Merlin cautiously treads into Arthur’s mind. He ignores as much of what he senses as he can, letting Arthur’s current emotions ground him. He is essentially flying blind, delving deeper into Arthur’s feelings and memories, letting his magic feel out for anything like itself. 

He hasn’t been wandering very long when his magic finds something. He uses it as a tether to pull him closer, and Merlin feels Arthur sense it, something deep inside him shifting. The strong waves of disbelief change into ones of curiosity with hints of doubt. Merlin hardly remembers to breathe.

Finally, he comes in range of whatever it is his magic discovered, and Merlin’s heart genuinely forgets to beat.

He can’t actually see it, but it’s so _ beautiful _ , he can’t even comprehend. It feels golden and warm and so kind, Merlin can practically see it. It feels like Arthur, through and through, and though he can’t imagine what this feels like for Arthur, he gently strokes it with his magic. It stirs, and Merlin can feel the sheer _ power _ rolling off of it. If this is Arthur’s magic, this powerful, magnificent, beautiful thing, then Uther was the biggest liar on the planet. Even an untalented sorcerer should have been able to find this. It wasn’t hidden, not really, and even now it was mostly hidden under years of disbelief and memories. With Arthur as a toddler, that would have been the equivalent of missing a draft horse jumping and neighing on your bed.

He strokes it again, slowly and carefully. Arthur seems generally uneasy from the emotions flowing through, but Merlin doesn’t want to know what happens to Arthur if he startles his magic awake. Merlin can sense how integral this magic is in Arthur, can feel it in every atom of his being.

_ No magic, my ass _, Merlin thinks astonishedly. How that lie ever succeeded, he would never know.

“Do you feel it?” He makes his physical mouth, which feels distant, say.

“Feel what?” He hears the words as much as feels them.

Merlin strokes his magic a little more firmly, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up at the feeling of Arthur’s magic, radiant and strong. “That.”

“Yes.” He sounds like he’s talking through gritted teeth, but Merlin doesn’t have the focus to care why. He’s so close.

With his magic, he strokes back and forth over it, until it springs to life and shoves him out. He is pushed backward in real life, his hand ripped from Arthur’s. He lands on his ass, his eyes fixed on Arthur, who’s quite literally glowing. His veins and bones are vibrant light beneath his skin and clothes and his whole eyeball is shining gold. He looks ethereal. Merlin can’t look away.

“Merlin?” He asks, clearly frightened as he stares as his hands. “What… How…”

Finally, Merlin regains his senses, jumping to his feet. He still can’t sense what Arthur’s feeling, but fortunately, it’s written all over his face. “Arthur, it’s just your magic. You’ve got to calm down. It’s been stuffed away for a long time, and this is kind of like cobwebs. You calm down, and it’ll calm down too. Remember, it’s like an organ. It’s a vital part of you. It scaring you is scaring it which is scaring you. It wasn’t expecting to be woken up or used, because it too believed it did not exist. Just breathe. You’ll be okay.”

Arthur doesn’t really seem to believe him, breathing erratically. “Help!” He gasps, his whole body beginning to shake.

“Arthur, breathe. Breathe. In… Out…. In…. Out… In…. Out…” Arthur does his best to listen and follow along, and Merlin keeps it up until Arthur’s no longer glowing. “There you are, you’re okay.” He smiles nervously at Arthur, unsure of what his response is going to be.

Arthur looks at him, then turns to a goblet which was left on the table. He looks at it, his irises flash gold, and the goblet flies into his hand. The surprised, overjoyed laugh bubbles out of him, but Merlin can’t make himself do anything more than smile.

“I have magic,” Arthur breathes, meeting Merlin’s eyes now. “You were right.”

Merlin nods. “I wish you could’ve seen it like I did, Arthur. It’s… Your magic is stunning and incredibly powerful. It’s amazing.”

“I can’t believe you were right… How did you know?”

“My empathy… doesn’t work right on non-sorcerers. It never has.” Merlin shrugs shyly. “It… can’t read them like it reads sorcerers. I guess magic reads magic. I dunno. I’ve never really delved into the why. I just know that it doesn’t, and it’s never had a problem reading you. If anything, it had an easier time reading you because you’re like me.”

“Thank you, Merlin,” Arthur says, and Merlin almost melts with relief. “You can’t know what you’ve done for me.”

Merlin nods, fearing whatever will come out of Arthur’s mouth next.

“I’d… I’d be… be willing to be friends again.”

Merlin’s eyes tear up on the spot. “Really?”

“I… I trust you and I think you’ve… I think you’ve earned my forgiveness.” He’s so awkward, but it’s all Merlin can do to stop himself from tackling Arthur in a hug.

“Arthur, can I hug you?” They’d never hugged before, but Merlin needed it like he needed air.

Awkwardly, like Arthur always does, he nods.

Merlin wraps his arms around him tightly enough Arthur squeaks, burying his face in Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur’s arms find their way around Merlin, though he holds him much more gently and uncertainly than Merlin does. “Thank you, Arthur,” he mumbles, his heart so relieved he can’t describe. Holding him like this, his channel to Arthur slowly opens back up, and he can feel the warmth and affection coming from Arthur too.

“It’s only because I need someone I trust to teach me how to use my magic,” Arthur says but when Merlin looks up at him, it’s with a smile. “And I need someone to have my back when I ask my father why no one found it sooner.”

Merlin frowns. “Did I say that out loud?” He couldn’t recall saying anything that would have even hinted that, and though Arthur could have maybe put the same conclusion together by himself, he had less experience than Merlin did and probably didn’t know that his magic would have been like a beacon in his youth.

Arthur shrugs. “I… I think my magic remembers? Like it kinda got angry at the thought of my father or any of the other sorcerers who tested me.”

“Interesting. I guess I’ll have to stick around and help you figure it out.”

“That means you’ll also have to do my laundry.”

“Oh, in that case..."


End file.
